


Two for Flinching

by Scrunchles



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Dubious Consent Touching, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Terrorism, eventually, headcanon expansion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7015093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time Roadhog touches Junkrat, he flinches.  It's what happens when a person grows up in a post apocalyptic wasteland with only Junkers and poor, beaten down folk for kilometers on end.  Positive touch is hard to come by, and pain is a state of mind.  Now that they're out of Oz and blowing a mean streak across the rest of the world, Roadhog thinks it's time that Junkrat gets a taste of how touch was meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arms

**Author's Note:**

> This is an expansion on a headcanon I have where Junkrat hasn't had a lot of positive touch in his life, and so he's been conditioned to expect the worst from other people's body parts coming near him. This is my first time writing these two, so let me know if there are any characterization things I should address.

Junkrat was fidgety by nature—Hog knew it was hard to grow up the way he had and not have a constant bead on his surroundings.

If something moved, Junkrat observed it, decided whether it was a threat or not and then either dismissed it or reacted to it.

Roadhog just wished he of all people could be excluded from that razor sharp observation. He also knew best of all that he shouldn’t be.

Every time he touched Junkrat, the kid flinched. 

The first time, he’d actually ended up with a frag launcher waved in his face. Twitchy little cunt.

They had progressed past that now. Junkrat didn’t react so badly to Roadhog’s heavy hand settling on his shoulder or a friendly slap on the back after a good haul, but he still flinched. Still cast Roadhog a furtive glance, like he was still waiting for a punch or a forceful grab.

Lately it hurt to see the kid be as wary as he was. It hurt him personally, rather than just hurting his pride. If he was just Junkrat’s bodyguard, it would have only been his dignity, but somehow between dragging the scrappy little idiot out from a pile of rabid Junkers and sitting across from Junkrat in a British hotel counting and stacking bills, he had developed some sort of attachment to the wiry little guy. The kind of attachment he hadn’t thought he could feel anymore.

“Why’d you stop counting?” Junkrat asked, not even glancing up as bills flew between his hands.

Roadhog reached out on an impulse and the bills suddenly spilled from Junkrat’s right hand. The prosthetic clenched into a fist, and he opened and closed it a few times, as if trying to blame the flurry of bills on a mechanical malfunction.

Roadhog completed the motion, resting his hand on Junkrat’s shoulder until the young man looked up at him. 

Curious, embarrassed, and annoyed, Junkrat snapped at Roadhog before the logical side of his brain could interfere, “what?”

Roadhog curled his fingers around the thick strap of Junkrat’s harness and the rest of the bills fluttered to join their mates on the table and ground. 

“Hey! Easy, big guy, I take it back!”

Roadhog tugged Junkrat towards him and Rat’s hands slammed on the table. He tried to resist the pull, but his palms, flesh and metal alike, slipped on the money that covered its surface, and he was soon face to snout with Roadhog’s mask.

“Have I ever hurt you?” Roadhog asked curiously. He was a large, generally angry, man, he’d maimed people before without it really registering. He just hadn’t cared.

He cared now.

“Since you mentioned it, this kind of hurts,” Junkrat admitted, his hands rising from the table to struggle with the iron grip Roadhog had on his harness.

Failing that, Junkrat’s hands found the buckle that secured the harness to his chest and began wrenching at it.

Roadhog let out a noise of frustration, which sounded just like a garbled sigh through his mask, and released Junkrat, who scuttled almost all the way across the room before he stopped to look back at Roadhog.

“Are you impatient for your piece of the haul or something? You’ll get your half of the Omnics’ shit, no worries! Just having a bit of–”

“I’m not threatening you, Junkrat,” Roadhog told him, trying to be crystal clear. He supposed that everything he’d said up ‘til then was more than a little ominous. That was just because he was trying not to sound sappy, but instead of clearing the air between them, Junkrat looked ready to bolt from the room and take his chances back in Oz.

“If you’re not threatening me, then what’re you about, mate?” Junkrat wiped the palm of his left hand nervously against his shorts, and the tips of the fingers on his right hand twitched like it remembered a similar emotional tic.

Roadhog thought about just giving it up for the night. It would be easier to just fall back into the flighty, nervous partnership that they had had over the past year rather than try to get Junkrat to respond normally to non-violent contact. Well, Roadhog supposed that his normal wasn’t Junkrat’s normal. 

That wasn’t fair.

“Come here,” Roadhog said wearily. He twisted his chair around from facing the table and pointed at the spot in front of his spread knees.

Junkrat reluctantly moved from his spot by the bed—he’d put the corner of it between them—and slunk over to stand before Hog with his lips pursed and his eyes flickering between Hog, the table, the bathroom, the small fold out couch in the corner.

He was looking for things that he could put between them.

Roadhog made a disgusted noise in his throat and resisted just grabbing Junkrat by the arms and shaking him. Yelling, “see? I’m not hurting you!” while doing something impulsive was a little… unhinged, but that’s how Junkrat made him feel. Off-balanced, unhinged, needy and weak.

Junkrat stood silently in front of Roadhog for less than a minute before he crossed his arms and his left foot started tapping.

Roadhog slowly began to move, once Junkrat’s body lost the tightly wound edge to it. He mostly resembled a spring when he was in close quarters with someone, anyone—including Roadhog.

He wondered if he could change that. 

Junkrat flinched away from the massive hand that moved to rest on his shoulder.

He raised his other hand up to rest on Rat’s other shoulder and saw panic flash through his eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated, sliding his hands slowly down Rat’s upper arms, then back up once he felt the warm metal edge of the kid’s prosthetic.

Panic turned to confusion in an instant.

Hog wished he had removed his glove and rings, but next time. Next time.

Right then, it looked like Junkrat was trying to figure out where a left over bolt went in his hand.

Roadhog continued the slow, even motion, the corner of his lips turned up slightly beneath his mask.

“Hey, mate…?” Junkrat finally spoke up. He looked more relaxed than before.

Roadhog grunted in reply.

“What the bloody fuck?”

Roadhog’s hands paused on Junkrat’s arms, and the confusion turned to panic again before Roadhog’s hands dropped away and he gripped his own belly as laughter rattled through his ravaged chest and throat.

Junkrat moved a step back, but when Roadhog looked at him again, his lips were cocked in a half-smile, like he didn’t get the joke but wanted it explained.

Roadhog waved his hand at Junkrat, who flinched, and then the massive outlaw turned his chair back to the table.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Let’s just get this counted and crash.”

Junkrat hesitated before moving back to his own side of the table and kneeling to collect the bills that had fallen.

Roadhog resumed counting out £1000 bundles and stacking them in the duffle bag beside them, his mind turning over again and again how he could get Junkrat to seek out his touch, rather than cringe away from it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More reflection on Roadhog's part, and some couch potato time while laying low.

Junkrat slept splayed out on the couch with his left leg hooked over the arm and his prosthetic rested on the carpet.  

 

Roadhog had first thought that it was a strange and shameless way to sleep, but that was before he'd slammed the door coming back from fetching breakfast on their first morning in Southeast Asia and watched Junkrat's entire body snap like a tightly strung bow.  He had been upright in an instant, his prosthetic arm in front of him to block whatever attack might come, and his left hand holding something explosive and homemade at the ready.

 

He didn't react as drastically anymore.  If Hog slammed the door before his charge had woken up, the most he would get was a jerk, then a carefully tilted head and a, "hullo."  

 

Roadhog closed the door softly behind him and lumbered across the room to set the donuts and coffee on the counter next to Junkrat's grocery bag of cleaning chemicals.  

 

He'd had chemistry in high school, but nothing had really stuck.  Junkrat, who'd never had more than grade school formal education, could do more with a few bottles of every day cleaning supplies than Roadhog could with a few traditional grenades.

 

Roadhog pulled his mask out of the pocket of his trench coat and tossed it onto the bed.  He turned away from the tiny counter to see Junkrat's bright, beady eyes watching him from the couch.

 

"Breakfast," he rasped, nodding to the bag beside him.  He left his mask up just enough to be able to shove a donut into his mouth.

 

"How come y'only get donuts on your turn to pay, but when it comes outta my cut its like a fuckin' buffet?"  Junkrat stretched before standing and hobbling over to drown his coffee in cream.  

 

Junkrat wasn't big on strong tastes, but he was growing more fond of sweets as he got used to them.  They were a luxury item in Australia, but in all the places they'd hit, sweets were plentiful, and cane sugar carbs were once again the cheapest way to consume calories. Which Roadhog had every intention of shoving into Junkrat as often as possible.  He'd grown up scraping for his next meal, leading to a desperately thin and wiry physique.  The exact opposite of Roadhog, who had been an adult when everything went to shit and was able to keep his own belly and pockets full most of the time.  He hated thinking about what Junkrat would have had to gone through to survive.  He knew how fucked up his own life had been since taking back his country from the omnics.  Imagining that for someone more than twenty years his junior just left a bad taste in his mouth.

 

Even so, Junkrat had survived, cultivated skills that were useful, and discovered some high-value loot.  He'd overcome a lot, and, despite having barely a pinch of fat anywhere, he was strong enough to lug a tire filled with explosives around on his back everywhere.  

 

Junkrat took the entire bag of donuts back to the couch with him, and plopped down with his left leg pulled up on the cushions.  "Figure we only have to lay low for a little bit, right?"

 

"The less time, the better," Roadhog agreed, putting away his reflections and picking his coffee cup up.  "We have one more score before we ferry back to the rest of Europe, and if we wait too long, they might redirect their attention from trying to find us, to protecting what's most valuable to them."  Roadhog drained his coffee before dragging his mask the rest of the way down down and doing up the buckle.  He felt a tickle in his lungs, and pulled out a new filter to pop in, breathing deeply before tossing it over his shoulder and moving to join Junkrat on the couch.  The metal canister clanged against the discount laminate that the bathroom and "kitchenette" side of the room was floored with.  The kitchenette was a twenty year old microwave set up on a short counter badly bolted onto the wall and the table they had counted their loot on the previous night.

 

Junkrat scooted a few inches away to make room when Roadhog sat down, and only shied away slightly when Hog draped his arm across the back of the couch. 

 

Hog turned on the tellie with his other hand, and tried to ignore the obvious, alert way that Junkrat was glancing at him every few minutes.  He was also unnervingly silent. 

 

Usually he'd be cackling at the ever-lengthening list of their exploits being covered by the news or asking things about pop culture that Roadhog couldn't always answer accurately.

 

"What?" he asked after ten silent, uneasy minutes.  Junkrat wasn't the kind of man to hold anything in.  If something was bothering him he usually just came out with it.  Honestly, most times he couldn't be stopped.

 

"Eh... Nothin'.  No worries." Junkrat laughed as he tried to make his nervousness less noticeable, thus making his discomfort all the more obvious.

 

Roadhog grunted and turned his attention back to the tellie.  A news reporter was reminding citizens to stay alert for the two fugitives.  Their pictures were shown, and Junkrat didn't so much as cackle at the mixup of their names.  Roadrat and Junkhog were displayed on the screen, beneath Junkrat and Roadhog's pictures respectively.

 

Roadhog changed the channel, still biding his time for Junkrat to figure out what was wrong.  He settled back into the couch and closed his eyes.  Whatever, they had the time.

 

The empty donut bag hit Roadhog in the side of the head a few hours later.  Roadhog opened his eyes and tilted his head to level a glare at the young man, who had stretched out across what remained of the couch.  His left foot was carefully placed on the cushion to avoid touching Roadhog's thigh, and Junkrat's back looked uncomfortably jammed against the couch arm because of it.  His right leg hung off the couch lazily.

 

Junkrat smirked and sucked the icing and crumbs from his fingers before he started nibbling at his ragged cuticles.  "Didn't think you were into the touchy feely crap," he mumbled around his thumb, jerking his prosthetic leg to nudge Roadhog's ankle lightly.

 

Roadhog glanced at Junkrat, then shrugged. "It's nice to feel sometimes."

 

Junkrat paused his worrying at his fingers and nails to give Roadhog his attention.  "Yeah?" he asked, the edges of his lips quirking up as his eyes gleefully darted back to the tellie.

 

Roadhog grunted and nodded before turning his attention back to the tellie's screen.  It was an old American soap opera, one that had survived for almost a century before the Omnic Crisis and now it was still going thirty years later, too.  He supposed that Junkrat thought that he was watching it with great interest, since he couldn't see Roadhog's eyes.

 

"Can't believe you're into dramas.  Learn something new every day, I guess."  Junkrat cackled and continued watching the screen with gusto as the characters fell back on a couch together.

 

A human man was holding an omnic tenderly on the screen.  It was stretched out across his torso, and his hands rested tenderly on the sides of the thing's head.

 

 _"I can feel your warmth,"_  the omnic said.

 

" _I'm only this warm when I'm with you,_ " the human replied, stroking his fingers across the metal of his lover's face.

 

Roadhog grimaced and changed the channel, nauseated.

 

"Hey! It was just getting good!  I wanted to know where he was gonna stick it."  Junkrat wiggled his eyebrows at Roadhog, but the bodyguard didn't respond, just kept flipping until he found something more palatable to take up the space between himself and Junkrat.

 

A channel with an action series marathon lasted until Junkrat got restless and began pacing.  

 

"If you want something to do, the next heist's materials are in the folder on the table," Roadhog told him, tired of the soft, rhythmic thump of Junkrat's peg leg on the threadbare carpet.

 

"What's for dinner?" Junkrat asked, hobbling into the kitchenette and plopping himself down at the table.

 

"Burgers 'n' chips," Roadhog told him, preferring the closest thing to their motel.  He didn't like leaving Junkrat alone.  Both because he was his bodyguard and because a bored Junkrat was a ticking time bomb for trouble.

 

Literally.

 

Roadhog didn't mind trouble, really—especially Junkrat's particular brand of trouble—but he was aiming to live through their little tour of the world and get all the cash that was coming to him.  He couldn't do that from a prison cell.

 

He heaved himself up and took off his mask.  Roadhog fetched his trench coat, pulled it on and shuffled toward the door.  As he passed the kitchenette, he paused and rested a hand on Junkrat's shoulder.

 

Junkrat tensed beneath his palm and his eyes jerked up from the blueprints to meet Roadhog's.  What Roadhog saw in Junkrat's eyes wasn't fear, but expectation.  He was waiting for whatever Roadhog would do next.  A shove, a grab, a grip that could snap a few bones and render one of his last fully-working appendages useless.

 

"Stay out of trouble," he told Junkrat, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before releasing it.

 

Just like that, Junkrat’s expression changed from a nervous sort of blankness to winking grin.  “You know me!” He saluted Roadhog before returning to the blueprint and marking the guard rotation with little scraps of paper.

 

Roadhog huffed out a chuckle and smiled a little as he left the room.  Yeah, he did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heist goes as well as can be expected.

Their heist on the Tower of London had turned into a bloodbath quickly.

 

It wasn't that they hadn't planned well enough, or that additional security had been added, it was just that one man had been late on his half-hour walk of the Traitor's Gate, and Junkrat had detonated a grenade in his face before Roadhog could step forward to snap his neck.

 

He seriously considered snapping Junkrat's neck as they hid in one of the royal bedroom mock ups stationed on the corner of the outer wall farthest from the entrance to the place.  It happened to be the side of the castle that they needed to be on but it also happened that they had killed at least twenty guards so far, and Roadhog had been shot twice.  They were the kind of wounds that taking a breather could only reduce to a grating tickle.

 

"We need to get going!" Junkrat told him, prodding Roadhog in his uninjured side with his frag launcher.  "They're bound to have backup any minute now!"

 

Roadhog took two prods of Junkrat's weapon before he shoved it to the side and grabbed Junkrat by the strap of his grenade harness so that he would stay still and listen.  "We're splitting up," Roadhog stated.

 

Junkrat frowned at Roadhog for a second before shaking his head.  "Nope, we either heist together or we don't heist at all."

 

Also, Junkrat knew that he would die if Roadhog wasn't there to keep him alive.  Heist or bounty hunters.

 

"Listen, you're faster and I'm a distraction and deterrent to them.  If I can keep them occupied long enough for you to get in, get the jewels and get out, then it's a success and we meet back up later."

 

"Yeahhhhh...  _But_  you also might get a few more holes in you and  _die._  So there's that to think about."  Junkrat prodded Roadhog with his frag launcher again, and again until Roadhog hauled him off his feet by the strap of his harness and brought him in close to his face.

 

"No job too big, Rat," he reminded him. "We're not breaking up, just splitting up, and you'll fucking do as I say or I'll--"

 

"Hah! I can't believe you just said 'breaking up!' " Junkrat crowed, cackling loudly enough that Roadhog had to both cover his mouth with his free had and give him a good shake to get him under control.

 

"Focus, you little shit," he demanded before roughly shoving him away.

 

Junkrat giggled a little longer as he fell back on the mock-bed, his flesh hand covering his mouth to stifle the noise as Roadhog checked his wounds, then the level of shrapnel left in his shotgun.

 

"I'll meet you back at the motel," he told Junkrat.  

 

"And I'll follow you there, because I'm not splittin'," Junkrat said in the most reasonable and measured tone Roadhog had ever heard from him.  "Listen, mate, if things are so dire that you've gotta distract the heat from my back, then you need me beside you blowing up the cheese what wants to get you from behind, yeah?  What you gonna do in a sniper situation? Bob 'n' weave until they run out?" He raised a brow at Roadhog.

 

They didn't have much time left.  They needed to buy themselves time.

 

"Yeah, that's the plan."  Roadhog sighed and scratched his stomach.  Sometimes Rat wasn’t as much trouble as Raodhog gave him credit for.   He shoved some more scrap into his gun before turning around to kick the door off its hinges and jerk his chin north, to the stairs a few meters away.  "Let's go, Rat."

 

Junkrat perked up and the familiar, uneven shuffle of Junkrat fell in behind Roadhog as they made a break from their cover.

 

Handguns fired from far off, but there wasn't any sniper fire until they had safely busted through the heavy, ornate doors leading to the Crown Jewels of England.  Roadhog felt an intense burning sensation in his neck as he ducked out of the way, and felt the lightheadedness start up almost immediately after.  He jammed a canister into the filter of his mask and inhaled deeply as dark sparks burst before his eyes.

 

It took all of five seconds for him to be able to breathe normally again.

 

Junkrat glanced over when he started to move again, and smiled nervously at him.  "See? Snipers."

 

Roadhog huffed and broke the bulletproof plexiglass on the nearest display with a few hits from his brass knuckles.

 

Metal grates slammed down on the doors leading out of the room, and alarms started going off on the north side of the castle.

 

"Just blow through the walls, like we planned," he told Junkrat, grabbing everything he could and stuffing it all into the bag they had brought with them.  It was Plan F, but it was still a plan.

 

Bullets peppered the wall behind Junkrat, but stopped when the squeak of springing metal brought a desperate scream from the shooter.

 

Junkrat giggled manically and hobbled over to shoot a grenade between the bars to finish off the guard before hauling out his compression bomb and setting it to blow through the north wall of the room.

 

Roadhog and Junkrat hurriedly broke through almost all of the display cases and loaded up the duffle with the heavy jewels, robes and weapons of centuries of royalty.

 

A hovercopter could be heard outside, and there was the steady, measured stomp of military assistance outside the grate that trapped them inside.

 

"Blow it," Roadhog demanded.

 

Junkrat saluted and the compression bomb blasted the age-old stone.  It shattered, but didn't break all the way through.

 

Roadhog stomped forward and lead with his shoulder, roaring as he plowed through the weakened wall and out the other side.  His shoulder felt numb until he stopped moving, then it just hurt.

 

Junkrat followed behind, struggling to drag the heavy duffle of loot.

 

Roadhog grabbed the bag, hauled it up on his good shoulder and weakly shoved Rat in front of him.  "Blow us out of here and then get to the top of the ramparts.

 

His bike was hidden behind the castle.  If they could get to it, they would be in a better position to get out with the loot.

 

The sound of screeching metal reached his ears just before Junkrat started blowing walls, straight through to the outside.

 

There was the sound of troops again, probably a highly trained SWAT team similar to the one that they had wrecked at the bank.

 

"Fire in the hole!" Junkrat yelled from behind Roadhog.

 

His Rip-Tire roared past Roadhog just as he saw the SWAT team turn the corner.  He turned and grabbed Junkrat, dragging him in as he detonated the Rip-Tire and sheltering his charge from his own blast.

 

"Thanks, mate!" Junkrat was already moving before the ringing in Roadhog's ears subsided.

 

He grabbed his last filter and popped it in before trundling forward, huffing the healing fumes down.  Junkrat blasted himself up to the top of the ramparts just as Roadhog arrived at the bottom.  Roadhog gagued the distance to the top before bracing his feet on the grass and taking a few ponderous swings before using the momentum of a downswing to turn a full circle, picking up speed as he used all of his might to fling the bag of loot up to the top of the wall to join Junkrat.

 

He heard boots behind him, and shot his chain up to Junkrat, who quickly hooked it around one of the stone merlons before providing cover fire for Roadhog as he began to both pull and crank himself up.

 

His heart hammered in his chest, and the climb was tough and slow.  His back was exposed and he felt like a sitting duck just waiting to be picked off.

 

Men were screaming, though, and Junkrat was giving them a steady stream of grenades to worry about.  He only stopped launching frags at the men below them when Roadhog finally slapped his hand down between two merlons and began hauling himself up onto the ramparts.

 

He grabbed Roadhog by his harness, braced his legs on the edge of the rampart and helped haul Roadhog up.

 

A few bullets slammed into Roadhog's back before he could turn around and lash out with his hook.  He dragged one of the dwindling SWAT members in and shot his helmet off with his scrap gun.

 

A silence fell over the remaining men, and Roadhog tossed the corpse down to the grass below.  It hit with a sickening crunch.

 

Junkrat cackled and let out another flurry of grenades toward the ground while Roadhog grabbed the bag of jewels in one hand and Junkrat in the other, clutching him to his side as he threw them over the other side of the wall.

 

The moat water hit Roadhog's side like a slab of concrete.  He hoped for a second that he'd buffered Junkrat from the slam of it before he began kicking and moving his arms to get to the top of the water. A robot hand clung to his harness, and he was about to snap at Junkrat to "shove off," when the little whelp giggled and wrapped his flesh arm around Roadhog's neck.  It was the giggle that he used when he had forgotten to tell Roadhog something.  Or elected to exclude.

 

"So, you know all the planning that went into this heist?" he asked, his breath hot against Roadhog's ear and neck.

 

Adrenaline coursed through Roadhog and he struck out for the far shore, already knowing that he wouldn't like where this was going.

 

"I can't swim!" Junkrat announced at the same time Roadhog had the thought himself.

 

"When we get back to the motel, I'm going to kill you," he snarled, water garbling his rage.  It got across all the same, though, because Junkrat's arm clung tighter, and he giggled nervously.

 

"Well, if I'd told you, we wouldn't have--"

 

"Stuff it, Rat!" he growled. 

 

Junkrat fell silent, and his prosthetic hand twitched against Roadhog's shoulder.

 

They came out on the other side of the moat and Roadhog stretched out on the cold concrete, huffing and puffing to try and regain his stamina for the last leg of their escape.  He motioned wordlessly to the hovercopter making its way toward them, and Junkrat eagerly began to launch grenades at it. When it got close enough, Roadhog stood up reluctantly and slapped the attachment he had for his scrapgun on.  He braced his feet and began to go whole hog on the hovercopter.  Mechanics and smoke went everywhere as the hovercopter began to lilt to the side, then sped to crash into the moat

 

Junkrat slapped Roadhog's wet shoulder and laughed before beginning to pull him in the direction that they'd stowed the bike.

 

Roadhog grunted and steeled himself for one last rush.

 

With the jewels in tow, Roadhog and Junkrat uncovered the bike, and it started up just as the wail of sirens began to approach from both directions on the street.

 

"Here!" Junkrat shoved a yellow canister into Roadhog's mask, and he barely had a chance to inhale as the new filter engaged.

 

Junkrat chucked the empty bit of metal at one of the police cars as Roadhog revved up the bike and they screeched out of hiding and down the street.

 

Roadhog's confusion over the canister was quickly outweighed by the exhilaration of the chase.

 

His tired old chopped roared through the streets of London, Junkrat cackling in the sidecar, popping grenades back at their pursuers and taunting them through the narrow streets.

 

At one point, Roadhog even maneuvered two cop cars into colliding with each other.

 

By the time Roadhog roared, copless, into the storage facility where they usually hid the bike and their loot, Junkrat was practically vibrating with energy, while Hog felt like he was going to drop any second.

 

Roadhog took his frag launcher from him to keep him from drawing attention to them with a celebratory "finishing off" of his grenades and slammed the door behind them, locking it from the inside.

 

"Well, that went off," Junkrat said, laughing as he began pacing in the small space.

 

Roadhog walked over to the beat up suitcase he kept all his shit in and got another filter popped into his mask.  He breathed in deeply and then sighed, finally beginning to feel like himself again.  All he needed now was a full night's sleep.  

 

Junkrat jumped on Roadhog's back and cackled in his ear before leaping off and grinning at Roadhog manically.  "C'mon, mate, grab the loot and let's spread it out.  I didn't get to take a good look while we were grabbin’!"  Junkrat hopped from one foot to the other and darted over to try and lift the loot bag out of the motorcycle.  He struggled with it for a few seconds before Roadhog walked over and picked it up with one hand. 

  


He carried it over to a spacious empty spot and set it down for his eccentric employer.

  


"Stay quiet while you look at that," he told Junkrat with a yawn.

  


Sirens came into earshot, and Roadhog held his breath until they passed by.  The owner of the storage facility was being paid off and allowed to live.  Roadhog didn't trust anyone or anything, but he knew that they would be safe for the night.

  


He bedded down on one of the tarps they used to hide the bike from prying eyes and closed his eyes.

 

Junkrat cackled every once in a while and murmured to himself just as frequently.

 

Roadhog let it lull him to sleep.

 


End file.
